


Stardust Fever

by Animationfantic



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-22 20:26:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animationfantic/pseuds/Animationfantic
Summary: When Hater comes down with a mysterious illness, Peepers must look for help in an unlikely place.





	1. Chapter 1

True to his nature, Peepers woke up first. He yawned and stretched, cracking his knuckles comfortably and shaking the stiffness from his limbs. Still fast asleep, Hater rolled away from him, smacking his lips. Peepers slid carefully out from under the covers and padded in bare feet to the bathroom. Hater might be a heavy sleeper, but you couldn’t be too careful.

The Watchdog turned the water on before peeling off his pajamas. Tossing them into the hamper, he tested the water with one hand. “Cold,” he yelped, jerking back. “Cold water!” 

Wincing, Peepers twisted the knob. He kept twisting until the water was a tolerable degree. He showered quickly, and had pulled on his uniform before the last bubbles disappeared down the drain. Hater was still snoring. Peepers blinked affectionately and kissed the bony cheek.  _Love you._

Careful not to wake his boyfriend, the Watchdog tiptoed to the door, his boots in his fist. Outside in the hallway, the Commander pulled on his boots. He yawned and stretched, working the stiffness from his back. First things first. Coffee. He needed coffee. Peepers stumbled down to the kitchen, relying more on muscle memory than actual sight to get the job done. Pour the water. Turn on the machine. Don’t forget the mug.

Less than five minutes later, he had a cup full of warm, sweet morning motivation. He took a sip, and sighed. “Bitter.”  _Just the way I like it._

Peepers took his coffee black, no cream and no sugar. He liked it straight, precise and to the point. Nothing fancy or distracting. Just dark and tart and steaming hot. Peepers took his time, savoring the rush of chaotic energy that flowed into his veins with every sip. The last grounds disappeared. Peepers threw the mug into the dishwasher and set out to attack the day. 

Everything post-coffee was regular as clockwork. Not that he expected anything less. Peepers ran a tight ship. He had to. With an army of dunderheads and a leader like Hater, somebody needed to be on top of things. That somebody was Commander Peepers. Monday meant 7:00 training for the ground troops. Peepers lounged in the doorway, watching the bleary-eyed soldiers stumble into each other. He lingered just long enough to see three go down under a Sylvia-shaped punching bag. He rolled his eye and walked on.

The Commander found the rest of his army eating breakfast in the cafeteria. He nodded briskly. _Perfect._

Peepers took up his usual position at his usual table. Hater wasn't here yet. No big deal. He'd come eventually. Just like he always did. They had a routine. Right about now, they'd sit down for breakfast. Peepers waited, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.All around him, yawning troops helped themselves to bacon and eggs. One or two snored into glasses of orange juice. Out of the corner of his eye, Peepers spotted Andy and Bean conducting interviews.

He growled low in his throat. _How many times do they have to be told?! Sector G surveillance before the stupid show!_ Peepers took a step forward, ready to pound Andy flat. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Waiting, slightly impatiently, for Hater to give the order.

This was another morning ritual. And one of Hater's favorites. Whenever Andy stepped out of line, Hater would laugh and set Peepers on him. "Get him good, Peeps!"

That was his signal. The cue to bring the pain. Peepers grinned wolfishly. _Any second now._

Absolutely nothing happened. No shouts. No whistles. Nothing. Peepers straightened up and looked around. Hater wasn't in the cafeteria. This wasn't entirely a surprise. Hater wasn't a fan of mornings. Never had been. And it _was_ still early.

 _Probably still sleeping,_ Peepers decided. He sighed in defeat. _Oh, well. There's always next time._

It wasn't the same without Hater. If he wasn't down here, he hadn't eaten yet. Better get him some breakfast. Still growling, Peepers grabbed a plate. He piled it high with the blackest pieces of bacon he could find. Half a glass of orange juice. No pulp. Peepers grabbed two waffles, drowning them in sickeningly sweet syrup.

Shooting a last, furious glare at Andy, Peepers marched back his bedroom. “Morning, sunshine,” he called. "Brought you some breakfast." A horrible, gurgling noise answered him. Hater pulled the sheets up over his head and rolled away. Peepers frowned. “Hater?”

“Go ’way,” Hater rasped. “I’m tired.”

Papers sighed. Morning grouchiness. Classic Hater. “That’s nothing new,” he said. “You’re always tired. I brought food."

"Feh."

"Hater, c'mon, eat something," Peepers said, trying to sound cheerful. "Before it gets cold."

"Not hungry," Hater muttered into his pillow.

By now, Peepers was getting concerned. He put the tray to one side. "What’s with you?” Hater sniffled, and barely suppressed a cough. Peepers put a hand on his shoulder, but the skeleton shook him off. "Hater, talk to me, baby."

Peepers frowned. Even for Hater, this was weird. It wasn't like him to miss bacon. Wasn't like him to miss Andy's ritual pummeling. From the time they first started dating, Hater had never missed breakfast with his Watchdog. Never. Not once. Even if he didn't like what was on the menu. He always made time for Peepers. They _always_ ate breakfast together. Always.

_And now he's refusing food? Sending me away?_

Something was seriously wrong.

Ignoring Hater’s irritable grunts, Peepers climbed into bed. He pulled Hater’s skull into his lap and started rubbing his horns. Still under the blanket, Hater wriggled. “Stop it,” he grumbled.

His horns were extra sensitive. Peepers rubbed his back instead. "Hater, baby, talk to me. Did I say something? Did I do something? What's wrong?"

"Don't feel good," Hater said.

 _That makes sense,_ Peepers thought to himself. _Lack of appetite. Grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual._

Placing his fingers under the jaw, Peepers rolled Hater over. "Let me look. What’s...eugh!”

The Watchdog recoiled. Hater blinked sourly at him. The green eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Sweat glittered on his cheekbones. His breathing was shallow and raspy.  _Why didn't I see it before?_

"So that's the problem. You're sick,” Peepers said, wiping his sweaty skull with his sleeve.“Baby, why didn't you say something?"

Hater blinked through puffy eyes. “I was fine yesterday,” he said thickly. “I don’t get sick. I’m Lord Hater!”

"Everyone gets sick," Peepers said flatly. "Hold still, will you?"

Hater rolled his eyes and went on a rant about being the Greatest in the Galaxy. How evil rulers were stronger than anything in the known universe. Peepers ignored him. He lifted Hater’s bony chin in a hand and looked over his sweaty brow and streaming eyes. Under his fingers, the skeleton felt hot. Fever.  _But he’s shivering._

“Cold, sweetie?” Peepers asked, more gently this time. Hater didn’t say anything. His chattering teeth were answer enough. "You were fine yesterday. Was it something you ate?"

"Dunno," Hater said thickly. He sounded full of mucus. "Woke up feeling...Ick..." He waved a vague hand.

"OK," Peepers said. "Maybe it's a 24 hour bug. Best thing for it is sleep. C’mon, buddy, under the covers.” Pulling the blankets up to the bony chin, Peepers stroked his sweaty forehead. "Well, you’re obviously a little pale around the gills," he commented.

“I’m not a fish,” Hater said irritably.

“It’s an expression,” Peepers explained patiently. “Just means you look bad.”

“I _look_ fine,” Hater grunted. “I’m not sick, Peeps! I’m fi...choo!” He sneezed. A blast of snot hit Peepers square in the chest.  _Nice._

Peepers wiped the spit off his uniform. “I can see that,” he said, very sarcastically.

“Sorry,” Hater muttered.

Peepers sighed. “It’s fine, I’ve got a backup. It’s all I ever wear, anyway. Try to relax, will you? Get some more sleep.”

“Where are you goin’?”

“Work,” Peepers replied, peeling off his stained shirt.

Hater’s face fell. “What?”

“I know, big fella, but I’ve gotta go in,” Peepers said apologetically.

Hater closed his eyes. “You don’t have to. I’m still the boss, I can...” Peepers frowned. “Ya know, if...” Hater’s voice faltered, and he stopped talking.

Peepers pulled on a fresh shirt. “You’re out of commission, big fella. You’re sick. And when the boss is out, it’s my job to step up.” He rubbed Hater’s cheek. “It won’t take long. Promise.”

“How many times do I have to tell ya, Peepers?” Hater wheezed irritably. “I don’t get sick.”

“And I suppose green mucus dribbling from your nasal cavity is normal?”

Hater didn't reply. Peepers' heart squeezed, and his expression softened. "Look, Hater. Like it or not, you're sick. And you're miserable when you don't feel well. Do me a favor, big guy, and get some more shuteye. OK? It'll do you good."

The skeleton shivered, his bones rattling. "Fine," Hater muttered through chattering teeth.

The room wasn't cold. But Hater obviously was. Peepers crossed the room, heading for the closet. Behind the neatly-folded cloaks was a hive of disgusting junk. A mishmash of unwashed, torn and otherwise useless stuff that always ended up back here. Peepers wrinkled his lid.  _Nasty._ But no time for that now. The mess could wait. Hater was sick, and what he needed was, hopefully, somewhere in this pile of festering debris.  _Oh, well._  Peepers heaved a sigh. _I'd do anything for him. Even wade through a pile of trash._

The cloaks that were hung up slapped him in the retina as Peepers pushed past them. Holding his breath, he dove in, going deep into the no-man's land of dirty laundry and unfolded clothes. On hands and knees, the Watchdog riffled around in the dark until he found it. _Ha! Gotcha!_

He backed out, holding the prize close to his chest. A massive blanket. Extra fluffy. And, thankfully, not too badly stained. The Commander threw it over the skeleton, covering him horn to toe. "You owe me," Peepers said. "It's a mess back there."

From under the pillow, Hater rolled his watering eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks, or whatever." He lifted his head and squinted at the Watchdog. "What is it, anyway?"

Peepers tucked the edges under the broad shoulders. "The blanket." Peepers smoothed out the wrinkles. "Remember? This came from the concert last year."

Hater smirked reminiscently, blinking crust from his eyes. "Our first one together."

"Yeah, that band was horrible," Peepers teased, his eye glinting mischievously.

"It was _my_ band!" They laughed. It was true. An official Lord Hater and the Harbingers of Doom blanket. Peepers had made it himself. A memento of the first time they had played as a couple in that wonderfully stupid band.

Hater stopped laughing. He coughed from deep in his chest. It sounded painful. Wincing, Peepers patted his back until Hater had stopped wheezing. "Easy, big guy. Save some air for the rest of us. Deep breath."

"Where was it?" Hater managed to rasp.

"Way in the back of that pigsty we call a closet," Peepers told him. "Stop talking, will you? Settle down."

"Fine, fine." With a grunt, Hater flopped on his back and pulled the blanket up over his head. "Promise you're gonna be back soon?"

Standing on tiptoe, Peepers kissed the blanket over his forehead. "I promise. But I need to get going." His stomach twinged guiltily. "Sooner I leave, the sooner I'll be back." Hater only grunted. Peepers pulled the blanket off his head and folded it under his chin. “Get some sleep, bonehead,” he said. “I’ll check on you later.”

"Don't take forever." Hater glowered at him through puffy red eyes.

"I won't." Hiding a smile, Peepers pecked Hater’s cheek. “Love you.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of the bony mouth. Grumbling, Hater vanished under the covers. "Yeah, love you, too, or whatever."

Peepers hated to leave Hater behind. But things needed to get done. Peepers worked at top speed. He balanced the budget. Called his parents. Double-checked the weapons and supplies. He even got a bit of exercise chasing Andy back to Sector G. But his heart wasn't really in it. Hater was his top priority. At noon, Peepers called it a day. With soup in hand, he popped back into their room. All the lights were out. Squinting a little, Peepers crept inside. Hater wasn't snoring. He lay on his stomach. An unmoving lump sprawled across the mattress, the blanket's logo draped over his shoulders.

“Hey,” Peepers called. “I'm back.”

Something under the blanket grunted. “Took you long enough."

The words were rough, but Peepers knew Hater was glad to see him. Even if he did sound worse. Making his way over to the bed on tiptoe, Peepers reached out a hand. Gently as he could, he rubbed Hater's back. “No change, huh?”

“Like I said before, I'm fine,” Hater grunted into his pillow.

Tenderly, Peepers peeled off the covers and inspected him.  _Eugh. Definitely worse._

Judging by the beads of sweat on his horns, Hater was running a fever. Peepers ran a hand lightly over his cheek. No question. A fever. And a bad one. Hater snuffled, trying to open his eyes. Gunked-up lungs and swollen eyes. Peepers groaned softly. _Oh, Grop, this is bad._

“Ugh, my head…Peepers, I think I might be…” Hater sneezed explosively.

Peepers wiped snot off his recently-cleaned shirt. “Yeah. I think so, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

Peepers couldn’t sleep. He lay on his side, away from Hater. It was late. Very, very late. But he was wide awake. Hater kept kicking him. On the other side of the bed, Hater was restless. The skeleton rumpled and kicked and thrashed. He couldn't seem to settle down. He tossed and turned for what felt like hours.

Finally, Peepers had enough. “Stop moving,” he grunted.

“I’m hot,” Hater growled.

 _First he was too cold, now he’s too hot._ Peepers swallowed his frustration. _Not his fault. He’s sick. Poor thing, he’s bound to be crabby._

Yawning, Peepers reached for him. Hater’s side of the mattress was drenched in icy sweat.  _Man, I didn't realize it was that bad._ Out loud, he said, "Hang on, I gotcha."

Peepers peeled off the Harbingers of Doom blanket and let it fall to the floor. It seemed to help. Now they were sharing the top sheet.

Hater flopped on his back and rubbed his face. His eyes seemed even puffier than they had been this morning. "I can't sleep," he grumbled.

 _What a surprise._ Peepers rubbed his lids. His whole body ached with tiredness. But concern for the man he loved kept him wide awake. Stifling another yawn, Peepers rolled on his back. “Want some water?”

Hater licked his teeth. “Yeah. Please.”

Peepers glanced over at him, shocked. Hater _never_ said please.  _Poor guy really doesn’t feel well._

He hauled himself out of bed, avoiding the puddle of sweat. “OK, Hater,” he murmured. “I’ll get you a drink. I’ll be right back.” 

Peepers brought back a cup full of cold water and a wet cloth. Hater slurped it down gratefully. Some of it ran down his chin and splashed across his chest. Peepers noticed fresh beads of sweat breaking out over his horns. “Hater,” Peepers told him gently, “I’m gonna wet your face, all right? It’ll help you cool down.”

Hater grunted slightly as Peepers bathed his sticky brow with the wet cloth. "Thanks, Peepers."

 _Glad to see something's working,_ Peepers thought. Hater shuddered comfortably. Over and over again, Peepers dipped the cloth into the water and lightly dabbed the back of his neck. The cold water seemed to be doing him good.

Hater stopped kicking and settled back with a soft grunt. “Thanks, Peeps,” he said again.

“No problem.” Peepers exhaled a sigh of relief. “That better?”

“Yeah.” Hater nodded slowly. “Yeah, lots better.”

Peepers smiled. _Maybe now we can get some sleep._ Tucking the cloth inside the empty glass, he placed both on the nightstand, out of reach so Hater wouldn’t knock it over in his sleep. “Good. Close your eyes, Hatey. Get some rest.”

Hater sighed. As his swollen eyes flickered shut, Peepers tried to shut out the flicker of concern worming around in his chest.  _It hasn't been 24 hours, and he's gone from bad to worse._

Now wide-awake, Peepers sat next to him, listening to Hater's breathing ease into uneven snoring. The Watchdog slithered under the top sheet with a sigh. "Night, Hater."

Not even an hour later, the kicking resumed. This time, he didn't wake up. Peepers rubbed his eye and tried to ignore the rumpling sheets. _Maybe he'll settle back down._

Instead of relaxing, Hater stirred in his sleep, rolling over and whimpering hoarsely. Fresh beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead. The restless thrashing increased. Automatically, Peepers reached out a hand and stroked his cheek. _Still burning hot._ He sighed heavily. _Definitely a fever. And who knows what else?_

“Shh, Hatey,” Peepers breathed. “Everything’s OK. It’s all right. I’m here. Go back to sleep. Shh, shh.”

Still out cold, Hater twitched violently. A shudder rocked his whole body. His eyelids flickered, and he grunted softly. Peepers pulled his head into his lap and started singing. It was an old song. A lullaby he had learned from his own parents, years and years ago. 

Hater stopped kicking. The tremors subsided. He lay still, unnaturally still, his breathing much heavier than usual. A harsh, uneven rasp that rose the hairs on the Watchdog's arms. Shaking a little, Peepers kept humming, soft and sweet. His legs were starting to go numb. But he stayed put, brushing Hater’s cheek and singing to him.  _Sick or not, he’s so cute when he’s asleep._

He stopped singing and planted a soft kiss on Hater’s forehead. Hater grunted hoarsely. Peepers stroked the sweaty horns with the back of a hand. “It’s OK, big guy,” Peepers shushed him gently. “Everything’s all right. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

Grunting, Hater settled back down. But he was shivering again. His bones were ice-cold. Panic rose in the Watchdog's belly, burning his throat.  _Good Grop! Night terrors. Hot and cold and hot back to cold. Hater, just how sick are you?!_

Without thinking, Peepers started to sing their theme song. He kept his voice soft and soothing, even as his eye burned with tears. “Who is the universe’s awesomest evil-doer?”


End file.
